Part 11 (2/2)

”Indeed? You care to know it?” My father quite suddenly leaned forward and tapped him on the shoulder. As though the abruptness of the gesture startled him, my uncle drew hastily back. And still my father watched him. Between them was pa.s.sing something which I did not understand. The silence in the room had become oppressive before my father spoke again.

”Lead a life of disrepute,” he said gravely. ”I cannot think of a better cosmetic.”

”George!” cried my uncle in quick remonstrance. ”Remember your son is with you?”

”And seems amply able to look out for himself--surprisingly able, Jason.

Have you not found it so?”

”Thank heaven, yes!” he laughed, and glanced hastily at me again.

My father's coat lapel was bothering him. He straightened it thoughtfully, patted it gently into place, and then said:

”Surely, Jason, you did not come here to discuss the past.”

”Perhaps not,” Uncle Jason replied with another laugh, which seemed slightly out of tune in the silence that surrounded him, ”but how can I not be reminded of it? This room and you--indeed Henry here is all that brings me back. He is like you, George, and yet--” he paused to favor me with another glance--”he has his mother's eyes.”

My father flicked a speck of dust from his sleeve.

”Suppose,” he suggested, ”we leave your sister out of the discussion. Let us come down to practical matters and leave the dead alone.”

It was the first time he had mentioned her. His voice was coldly aloof, but his hand began moving restlessly again over his coat in search of an imaginary wrinkle.

”You understand me?” he inquired gently after a second's pause. ”Pray remember, Jason, I have only two cheeks, and I can recall no biblical law to follow if you should strike again.”

”G.o.d bless me!” gasped my uncle in blank amazement. ”I did not come here to quarrel. I came because you are in trouble. I came as soon as I had heard of it, because you need my help--because--” he had regained his cordial eloquence from the very cadence of his words. He paused, and I thought his eye moistened and his voice quavered, ”because blood is thicker than water, George.”

At the last words my father inclined his head gravely, and was momentarily silent, as though seeking an adequate reply.

”I thought you would come,” he said slowly. ”In fact, I depended upon it before I set sail from France. Ha! That relieves you, does it not, Jason?”

Yet for some reason the statement seemed to have an opposite effect. My uncle's heavy brows knitted together, and his mouth moved uneasily.

”See, my son, how the plot thickens,” said my father, turning to me with a pleasant smile. ”And all we needed was a hero. Who will it be. I wonder, you or your uncle?”

But my uncle did not laugh again. Instead, he squared his shoulders and his manner became serious.

”It is not a time to jest, George,” he said ominously. ”Don't you understand what you have done? But you cannot know, or else you would not be here. You cannot know that the house is watched!”

If he had expected to surprise my father, he must have felt a poignant disappointment; but perhaps he knew that surprise was a sentiment he seldom permitted.

”I know,” replied my father, ”that since my arrival here I have been the object of many flattering attentions. But why are you concerned, Jason? I have broken no law of the land. I have merely mixed myself up in French politics.”

Uncle Jason made an impatient gesture.

”You have mixed yourself up in such an important affair, in such a ridiculous way, that every secret agent that France has in this country will be in this town in the next twelve hours. That's all you have done, George.”

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